


Beruthiel's Cats

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Fluff, Interspecies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lantern Gift Universe: Frodo has an adventure with naughty cats</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beruthiel's Cats

I rarely returned home before Frodo, which was why the dark silence of our cottage came to me in such rude shock. My stomach had growled all the way home, in anticipation of whatever delight Frodo had prepared. Three years of living with a Gondorian of rather dull eating habits had not quelled Frodo’s love for hobbity cooking – and for that I was grateful.

I stood in stunned disappointment in the front hall, sniffing in vain. No herbed meat simmered on the fire, no aroma of baking bread wafted from the kitchen. In fact, no evidence existed that a meal had even been started.

Heaving a great sigh of self-pity, I unwrapped the second-day bread, which had already begun to taste stale. I smeared a thick slab of butter on it. I then polished an apple with a dishcloth. I ate these things, but they gave little satisfaction, not like the hobbity food that Frodo had spoiled me on lately. When Frodo got home, I at least planned to suggest that we go to the Pony for a hot meal.

I started a fire in the hearth and settled on the sofa. Listening for Frodo’s silent footsteps was futile, I knew, and yet I kept trying. I would not know he’d arrived until the door pushed open. The cottage was lonely and far too quiet without Frodo’s bustle and chatter. Too restless to sit, I stood again, and paced the room, sometimes peering out the window, straining to see down the dark road for Frodo’s graceful gait. Perhaps I was getting what I deserved. After all, there had been plenty of evenings in which I had come home to find Frodo scowling and fussing at me for being late. Darkness had fully fallen, and my stomach twisted into a fretful knot. He had never been this late. Just as I prepared to put on my boots again and go out into the chilly dark to search for him, the door opened.

“Frodo?” I called.

Frodo did not answer, but when he limped into the sitting room, his sleeve torn and his eye blackened, I rushed to him, my mouth hung open in shock and horror, falling to my knees and grabbing his upper arms. He reeked of fish and mud. “Who did this?” I demanded. I would make a corpse of whoever had done this to my sweet Frodo.

“I have not had the best day,” Frodo said in a dry voice, raising an eyebrow and releasing a tense sigh.

“I can see that,” I said. “What happened?”

“I should never have agreed to watch old Mrs. Thrushberry’s cats. Nor will I again.” Frodo’s voice dropped to a mutter. “Ungrateful beasts. Worse than Beruthiel’s Cats.”

I released my grip on his arms and led him to the sofa, onto which he gratefully collapsed. There I noticed that his hand was wrapped in a linen bandage. “Why would you need to watch her cats?”

“She has gone to visit her ill sister in Combe. She will be gone for days. I offered to feed her cats and give them company. So today, as planned, I arrived at her cottage to feed them. But what do you suppose happened? Mrs. Thrushberry forgot to leave the key to her cottage under her doormat.”

“That does not bode well,” I murmured. I kept my arm around him, but the stench of fish prevented me from pulling him into a true embrace.

“No, no it doesn’t.” Frodo’s eyes were bright, although his poor right eye was swollen and I guessed he would not be able to open it come morning. “I was forced to break a window with a rock and hope the neighbors did not call for the law. Imagine if you had to arrest your own hobbit for housebreaking!”

I grinned. “I should enjoy it too much, I’m afraid.”

Frodo smiled at last and he cuffed me before going on. “At any rate, I cut my hand climbing in the house.” He displayed his bandaged hand. “After tending to the cut, I spent much time carefully picking up the shards of glass. And oh dear, I shall have to reimburse Mrs. Thrushberry for the cost – do not let me forget.

“At last, I went to find the cats. And do you suppose those whiskered servants of Sauron were anywhere to be found? No, they were not.” Frodo squared his jaw in indignation. “I cut up the fish I had brought from the market and set it in the bowl – and still nothing. My hands reeked, and of course it smeared over the bandage – you smell it, too, don’t you?”

“It’s not too bad,” I fibbed.

“I called, I whistled, I searched the cottage. Then I happened to look outside just in time to see a streak of fur leap from the broken window. Now, my heart set up a furious batter because I would hate to have sweet Mrs. Thrushberry come home, only to find that I had managed to lose her beloved and may I add, spoiled cats!”

“Did you find them?”

“Oh, Faramir, I chased them – there were two of them, and they worked together, darting about and just out of reach, laughing at me –“

I burst into laughter, but when Frodo glared at me, I stopped.

“They ran into old Mr. Mills’ barnyard.”

“You didn’t chase them in there, did you?” I asked in dismay.

“Surely you smell that, too. And you’re a terrible liar, so do not bother.”

“You could use a bath,” I admitted.

“Well, at any rate, I had not planned on having to grapple with an angry cow, two territorial pigs, and a sheep. So finally I saw the cats up in the loft, looking down at me like they knew better. The chickens were tearing about the barn, screeching and fluttering their wings. I climbed up the ladder, although of course by this time, I was wondering how on earth I would get them down without being ripped to bits, even if they let me catch them. I would have to climb down the ladder holding one under each arm, which would leave me no room to hold on. And it would be a long fall if I lost my balance.”

“Frodo…” I said, shaking my head. “I would have given up at this point. When cats are hungry, they will return home.”

“Not too far off the ground, luckily, or I would not have lived to tell this tale, the ladder collapsed, falling on top of me, which is how my eye got hit. I landed, of course, right where a hen was not at all pleased how close I was to her eggs, and she pecked me until she tore my shirt. I slid out from under the ladder, only to find that the cats were nowhere to be seen. Again.”

“Oh, Frodo.”

“I went back to Mrs. Thrushberry’s cottage, utterly discouraged. I opened the door, planning at least to cover the broken window in case it rained. And as I walked in, what do you suppose I saw? The Nameless ones were curled up together on the sofa, purring, smelling of fish.”

I chuckled. “No doubt laughing at a foolish hobbit.”

“You would have done the same thing,” Frodo said, stroking my arm. “Well, I did cover the window. They’ll not be breaking away again any time soon.” Frodo paused a moment. “They are deceptively sweet when they purr, you know. Sort of like babies when they sleep.”

  
***

I straddled Frodo, letting my fingers dig deep into his back, kneading, pushing. It was the least I could offer. After a hot bath and a trip to the Pony, where Frodo had to tell his woeful cat story to everyone who ogled his swollen eye to avoid gossip from growing that I was perhaps beating him, we were both more than ready for bed.

Frodo groaned in pleasure. “Harder,” he murmured. I was fully aroused and hoped Frodo wouldn’t fall asleep too soon.

“You poor, sore darling.”

My fingers ran up and down his sides, taking pleasure in how he shivered and smiled at my touch.

I lay beside him, turning his face toward mine. I kissed him, and he opened his mouth eagerly to mine.

“You had a rough day.” I took one of Frodo’s hands and kissed it. “No more filthy fish stench.”

“Oh, goodness, I hope I washed it off,” Frodo said. “I should be embarrassed if that is your memory of making love to me.”

“Who said anything about making love?” I asked, feeling my groin warm and swell against him.

Frodo raised his eyebrows and wriggled against my arousal. “Oh,” he murmured. “Perhaps I misunderstood your intentions.”

I answered by kissing each of Frodo’s eyelids, being particularly gentle on the swollen eye. “My love, you are still beautiful, even banged up.”

We made love furiously. He clutched my shirt and grunted for me to thrust harder, and I obeyed, sinking myself again and again into him, thinking the rabid itch would never be relieved and half hoping it never would. As I reeled on the edge, I took his lips in mine and drank their sweetness, and my body shuddered, afire from his sweet skin on mine, his lips, always ready, and his welcoming heat.

When we finished, he lay limp in my arms, soft and warm. His eyes were closed, but he had a smile on his lips, like a cat that had enjoyed a grand day of mischief and filled his stomach with fish at day’s end.

  
END


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